


Fantasy

by technosaurus54



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Nonbinary Character, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15041081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technosaurus54/pseuds/technosaurus54
Summary: Matt wishes he could live his life the same way he plays D&D.





	Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first RPF. Would appreciate feedback.

Fantasy

  
  
It happens sometimes. He’ll put a little too much of himself into a character, a scene, a decision, an episode, and someone will haphazardly destroy him. A comment, a gesture, a disregard for whatever piece of himself Matt had exposed unintentionally. Sometimes he confronted them on it, but usually he shrugged it off. Reminded himself that it was just a game. They didn’t mean it, they cared about him, they were his friends. If he spoke up they would understand. But when he was tired, stressed, and worn down from the constant reminders of how different he was, how much he cared about…everything, the world pressed down around him and their laughter was suddenly cruel and heartless. Needles aimed at his weakest points, jabbing into the very life of him. And so he’d throw up a mask, a barrier, and assume the role of whatever was required of him at the time.   
  
After one particularly vulnerable night, Matt can’t sleep. He sneaks out of bed quietly, and locks himself in his office. There’s a mirror and a figure he keeps hidden in a drawer, for this purpose. He stares into his eyes, his reflection, and sees someone else. He sees softer features, lighter hair, and darker eyes; someone ambivalent and androgynous. Not Mathew at all. He sees Senokir. He sees Gilmore. He sees Alura. He sees Kima. The people he wishes he was. It’s so easy to forget they aren’t real. It’s so easy to lose himself in them; they are an extension of him. His creation. He knows them, feels them, is them.   
  
They don’t know what it's like. How can they? They only way he can explain it is through the very things they mock, the very things that exist only in a game. The game that is more real to him than anything else. He’s been called a pioneer of his field, an inspiration to all story tellers and world builders; but he doesn’t see the screen, the map, the figures, the dice, or even the players. He sees the world where he can be anyone he wants to be, everyone he wants to be; no limitations, just freedom. Freedom to fail without consequence. Freedom to love recklessly, to care intensely, to impulsively and continuously be himself. Be selfish.  
  
He hears a knock. “Babe?”  
  
He hastily puts the mirror away.   
  
“You ok?” Marisha asks sleepily.  
  
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.”  
  
“Do you wanna talk about it?”  
  
She doesn’t try the handle, and he’s thankful for it. She’s respecting his privacy and his need to keep his shame hidden.   
  
“No, I’m fine. I just need some time alone.”  
  
“Ok. I’m here if you need me.”  
  
She leaves. He takes a breath.   
  
It’s silly really. He knows how much they care. He knows Marisha is aware and accepting of all parts of him. But he needs to do this sometimes. He needs to give in to his insecurities and feel sorry for himself. Because no one else will. Because the world can never know what it’s like to live a fake reality. He thinks about it sometimes, about coming out; about telling the world who he really is. But for now…  
  
He clutches the figure of the brass dragon--looks into the mirror again and sees golden eyes, a long slender face, and strait long dark hair. An existence devoid of gender; the mantle of maleness and biology cast aside. He lets his reflection fade away, closes his eyes, and cries.


End file.
